


May the Bridges I Have Burned Light My Way Back Home (On This Fourth of July)

by btBatt



Series: cap's craptastic birthday series [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/btBatt/pseuds/btBatt
Summary: Tony calls to wish Steve a happy 99th birthday, of all things.





	May the Bridges I Have Burned Light My Way Back Home (On This Fourth of July)

**Author's Note:**

> title from Fall Out Boy's "Fourth of July"

“Happy birthday, man!” Sam says, smiling a smile small enough that it’s not out of place in the shabby safe house.

“Thanks,” Steve says, and his own smile feels sickly, weak. He’d been trying to fool himself into believing that it’s just another day, nothing special here, folks, move along. He’s done a piss-poor job mentally, he can’t stop thinking about home, and fireworks, and—yes, okay, _America._ (Sue him, it’s the Fourth of July, okay?) In his head, a voice that sounds like both Tony and Bucky laughs at him, and isn’t that just depressing.

But he’d been doing well on the surface at least. He told himself that if he could just act like it was a normal day on the outside then it would have to be just that—normal, ordinary, like all the other days he and Sam have spent galavanting across the world for the better part of a year now, taking down Hydra bases when they find them, busting drug and human trafficking rings. And now it’s not normal, now it’s really Steve’s birthday and he and Sam are hiding out in a shack in France, a safe house left over from the SHIELD days. Wanda’s still in Wakanda, and Steve doesn’t blame her for being tired of running, wanting time and space to process her grief. Scott and Clint both snuck back into the States to be with their families. 

(Steve’s not an idiot, okay, Tony _let_ them back into the country, just like he let Steve break them all out of the RAFT, just like he hasn’t stopped them from knocking down Hydra bases because he doesn’t want to. Steve wishes he could say he knows it’s because Tony still trusts him, but that thought is always chased by the one where Tony lets Steve get away with anything he wants just so they don’t have to be in a room together.)

Steve feels like he’s drowning. So maybe it really is just like any other day after all.

“Right after the Avengers started,” Steve says, because fuck it, Sam ruined it anyway, he can listen to Steve’s pity party, it can be Steve’s gift this year, “and we’d all been helping with cleanup for weeks and weeks, it felt like we weren’t making any headway. So Tony goes to everyone else and floats the idea of a surprise party for my birthday. Just, y’know, as a way to unwind and get to know each other without the life-or-death threat.”

Sam’s looking at him now, and he's still smiling, but it’s a little sad too.

“But,” Steve continues, “when Tony Stark comes up to you and goes ‘hey, guys, Captain America’s birthday is on the Fourth of July’ everyone thought he was full of shit. Except Natasha, because she already knew it was true, it’s right there in my file. But my birthday comes and we’re all staying in the tower then, because SHIELD HQ is worse for wear, and my apartment got destroyed—but it’s my birthday and Tony comes in for some coffee and wishes me a happy birthday. And, seeing as it is my birthday and that’s not an unusual thing to say, I thanked him.” Sam’s smile seems a little more genuine now, like he sees where the story’s going. And it is a happy memory. It is.

“So Clint, Thor, and Dr. Banner all jump up from where they’re sitting and start screaming at one another and at Tony, and Clint’s calling Nat a traitor, and they all run out of the room like their asses are on fire, and I had no idea.”

“Oh,” Sam says, “I’d pay to see that.”

“There’s a video somewhere,” Steve says, and laughs, even if it sounds a little breathless. “That was Stark’s present, a montage video of their mad dash to find presents for me. He even got security footage from some of the stores they went to, sweating their balls off in the middle of July in Manhattan.”

“Sounds like a pretty good gift, coming from Stark,” Sam says.

I miss him, Steve thinks. And then thinks, this isn’t usually the thing making me sad on my birthday. Usually it’s the memory of Bucky, the year after Steve’s mom passed, and how he did overtime down at the docks for two weeks just so they could make a cake. But that one doesn’t sting like it usually does, like it used to. Maybe because he appreciated it at the time, knew what it took for Bucky to do that for him, and he was grateful. He’s never seemed to be able to pull that off for Tony except in hindsight. Because right after the Chitauri? Tony was going through such heavy mental shit at the time, and he still remembered—and reminded the others about—Steve’s birthday. And when Steve told that anecdote at a dinner party with Pepper in earshot, some of her cocktail came out her nose. Because, try as he might, Tony doesn’t remember birthdays. He just doesn’t, except that he did. For Steve. And the fact that he somehow anticipated that an expensive gift would make Steve uncomfortable and did his own version of a homemade gift, even if at the time Steve thought Tony must’ve forgotten and had to slap it together at the last minute. Steve spent every year with the Avengers pining for his old life and completely missing out on a new family, and he didn’t even know it until that was out of reach, too.

He wishes, again, desperately, a little pathetically, that there was something to do today. Another lead to chase, or a kitten stuck in a tree he could save, or a Tony Stark around to annoy the hell out of him (and bring him into the present, into the moment, out of his head). There isn’t though. They’re still playing the waiting game with a contact, waiting to confirm some intel they’ve been hearing whispers of. They’ve been sitting in northern France for a week and a half now, and Steve’s getting restless, which is to say he’s becoming aware of how depressed he is and how much he wants to go home, and he knows he can do fuck-all about it. He wants a distraction. Sam gets it, to a certain degree, but even he’s starting to lose patience. They have a semi-working TV—basic cable only, and Sam doesn’t know French, but he’s started watching anyway. And Steve, well, he can take a hint, so he’s stuck to his bedroom mostly, and tried to draw, and nothing comes out right—Bucky gets drawn as the Winter Soldier, but somehow with Tony’s tear-filled eyes like they were in Siberia—and before he knows it he’s crying, again, and he’s never been much of a crier, or one for homesickness, but here he is, sitting in a room that isn’t his, without his shield, calling himself the fucking Nomad as he cries. It’s stupid and awful and he promised himself he wasn’t going to spend today like that, so he’s been sitting in the living room with Sam trying to be normal, functional, and all he wants is sleep his body doesn’t really need.

There’s a phone ringing suddenly. Shrilly and obnoxiously and Steve almost doesn’t realize that it’s his phone, the burner phone, until it’s too late. He thinks the TV, maybe, except Sam’s doing a crossword puzzle, the TV isn’t even on, and Steve’s out of the dining chair and vaulting over the couch to his room.

“What’s that?” Sam asks, but his voice is behind Steve, he can wait—oh, shit, what if Tony’s hurt—

Steve stopped carrying the phone with him about four months in; it’s bulky and awkwardly shaped and is way too obvious, but if he misses this call he’s going to do something drastic. Something that Tony would do. Have T’Challa build a receiver and implant it under his skin, right next to his ear, so he can never miss Tony’s call. He thinks Tony might already have one of those things—God, he can’t believe he just left the phone in his room like that—

“Hello?” he says into the receiver after he’s flipped it open and, really now, he’s lucky he didn’t break it in half by accident. He’s out of breath, he realizes distantly, which is frankly ridiculous.

“Steve?”

Steve breathes. He exhales a breath he feels like he’s been holding for months, but he breathes out too far and has to suck in another, and then he’s almost coughing. Get ahold of yourself, he thinks. Breathe, just breathe, it’s—

“Tony,” he says, breathes.

“Hey, old man.” Tony sounds subdued, but like he might be smiling. “Forget your inhaler again?”

“I’m fine,” Steve says and thinks, like hell I am. “I—is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“Honestly?” Tony says, and he sounds amused. Steve’s eyes start welling up at the same moment Sam comes to stand in his doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows up. “Nothing. I’m sitting at home and have the holiday off for some reason, it’s probably a fluke with the calendar and I’ll get hell for it tomorrow, but Pep’s gotta actually talk to me to yell at me so I figure it won’t be too bad, either way.”

“You're still not speaking,” Steve says. He blinks and a couple tears spill over because of course, of course the universe couldn’t even give Tony a small break. Sam looks alarmed and like he wants to help, but doesn’t know what to _do._ Steve’s intimately familiar with this feeling, and sends Sam what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Eh,” Tony says noncommittally, which means he’s still devastated. “It is what it is. Just thought I’d ring-a-ding and wish you a happy ninety-ninth.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, and he rolls his eyes for good measure because Tony can probably hear those kinds of things through the receiver too (and Sam’s still standing int he doorway, but he’s backing away now that he knows the world isn’t ending).

“I don’t give a shit where you are next year or what aliens are invading,” Tony says. “You know I can track this phone, right? Not a force on this earth will stop your hundredth birthday bash.”

And it’s always like this, isn’t it? Always Tony reaching out first with an olive branch Steve’s so ready to smack away or dismiss as showing off. Always Tony offering Steve a place to live, or throwing a birthday party, or making updates to his equipment so he doesn’t die of a malfunction in the field.

“I promise not to put up too much of a fight,” Steve says, and tries to say it like he means it, to say ‘one day I’ll stop abandoning you, I’ll come back.’

“Oh, please,” Tony says. “You’ll gripe like you always do, but really. We’ll get Thor to bring some of that mead. Even you’ll have to have fun.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Tony snorts. Steve breathes, and then again, a little deeper. He’s not surprised Tony doesn’t believe him, but he wishes he lived in a world where Tony could, where it wasn’t even a question.

“I miss you, Shellhead,” Steve says, and Tony gets quiet.

“I’m not the one who left,” he says eventually, the first hints of bitterness in his voice (and that, Steve thinks, is the impressive part, that it took so long).

“I know,” Steve says. “And I’m gonna come back.”

If he’s being honest, he could argue the point. Tony drove him away, the Accords made it impossible to stay. They could’ve run together or found a solution that works for everyone, but in reality it was Steve’s black-and-white stubbornness and his lie of omission about Bucky that lead them here. And yet here Tony is, calling on Steve’s birthday, because he’s always been the bigger person, the first to admit when he fucks up, and the one to try the hardest to correct his past mistakes. And Steve, like everyone else, fed on the image of Tony-fucking-Stark and used that reputation against Tony.

“Yeah,” Tony says, and he sounds dejected. Steve wipes at his eyes, sits up a little straighter.

“By next year,” Steve says. “There’ll be an emergency eventually. They’ll need us all, and we’ll show up. And then we’ll deal with all the legal stuff, but this isn’t forever.”

“Right,” Tony says, and he sounds fully back in sarcastic mode. “For that to happen I think we need a threat I can’t handle on my own.”

Steve grins, and it hurts. He’s just spilling his guts down the line, no big deal. He will admit, it’s easier when they’re not face-to-face

“Point,” he says, “but I need you.”

“Yeah, Nomad’s really been struggling, y’know, I think you’re slowing down in your old age.”

“Pshh,” Steve says and thinks, to hell with it. “There’s saying Captain America needs Iron Man at his back—which is true, why do you think you have the shield?—and then there’s this,” he drags the metaphorical knife a little deeper, through the muscle, “Steve Rogers to Tony Stark: my life tends to be better when you’re there.”

Tony’s breath does a funny thing on the other end of the line, and Steve wants to cry all over again, but he feels too tired. It’s the quiet resignation of bleeding in front of another human being.

“You sure have a funny way of showing it, Cap.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve says. He looks back towards the door for a split second, but Sam’s at least pretended to have gone back to the living room. “How’s Rhodes?”

“He’s—good. Tough, like he always is. He can walk short distances with the braces now, and he’s staying down in Philly with his parents for a while.”

“Good, good—I’m glad he’s doing better.”

Tony clears his throat, and Steve hears something clinking together.

“And you’re okay, right?” Tony says. “I don’t want you to tell me where you are,” he says quickly, “just—you’ve got somewhere to stay, and enough food?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. They don’t have as much food as Steve could eat, as they always had at the tower or the compound, but it’s enough to keep him healthy. He thinks he might’ve lost some weight, but he doesn’t know how much of that is due to their lack of resources and how much is because he keeps forgetting to eat. “I’m okay. Sam’s with me, it’s just the two of us.”

“Alright, yeah, sure,” Tony says.

“Are you up at the compound still?”

“In and out,” Tony says. “Between appearances, mostly.”

“Who else is up there?” Steve asks.

“Viz,” Tony says easily. “Nat keeps showing up and leaving again. We have breakfast together about once a week. The spider-kid’s down in the city, so I’ve seen him around.”

“Queens, right?”

Tony laughs. “Of course that’s what you remember, you weirdo.”

“Right,” Steve says, “I’m the weirdo.”

“All New Yorkers are weirdos, but really. This stuff’s like your astrology. C’mon, quick, what borough am I from?”

“You’re from New York?” Steve says without thinking. There’s a moment where Steve blinks, his entire center of gravity shifting the slightest bit, before Tony responds.

“Of course,” he says, “I grew up there. Where—Steve, where did you think I was from?”

“…Malibu?” Tony erupts into laugher on the other side of the connection, and Steve grimaces. “I don’t know! I never really thought about it.”

“I can’t believe,” Tony says. “I grew up in Manhattan. I only moved coasts when my parents died, oh, my God, for an entire year after we met I thought that was why you didn’t like me.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Steve says, “no wonder you’re such a weirdo.”

And then—

“Holy _shit,_ no wonder we got off on the wrong foot,” Steve says, and it feels like an epiphany.

“Language,” Tony says, and it’s hard to breathe all over again. It takes a little longer to get under control this time.

“Is Sam with you tonight?” Tony asks, and he sounds more serious now, concerned.

“He’s in the living room,” Steve says. “I’m just in my bedroom.”

“Good,” Tony says. “You should go hang out with him, okay?”

Tony’s busy, he’s probably got things to do other than listen to Steve desperately trying to breathe over an outdated phone line.

“Okay,” he says.

“Feel free to call,” Tony says. Steve wishes he could help the hope that blooms in his chest at that, the expansion is almost painful, and Steve knows this never ends well for him. “Or text. Phones work both ways these days, you know.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Steve says.

“Happy birthday, Cap.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

He waits a good ten seconds to hang up, and then flips the phone closed. Maybe they didn’t fix anything, or even really talk about anything, but they did talk. The hopelessness from earlier has lifted if not disintegrated, and Steve puts the phone back in his pocket, as awkwardly as it fits.

Three hours later he and Sam are watching French TV, but it’s muted and they’re filling in the dialogue with their own ridiculous version. It’s something Bucky used to do while waiting for a shot when he was too far away to hear, and the memory makes something twist in Steve’s gut. He squashes it, reminds himself that Bucky’s safe with T’Challa, frozen and probably waiting for Steve and Tony to get their shit together or for the world to start ending again.

Sam had gone out while Steve was on the phone, and he comes back with an ice cream cake and sparkler candles. They put on nine, and Steve’s laughing in the picture Sam takes. He’s never had ice cream cake before, but he texts Tony after his first slice.

_requests for next bday: ice cream cake!!_

Tony takes about half an hour to text back, and when he does it’s to offer up root beer floats for the menu. Steve admits he’s never had one before, and Tony sends back a simple _!!!!!!!!_

It’s around 5 AM the next morning when Steve gets a video message (and he’s honestly surprised that it’s a feature on this phone). It’s DUM-E wearing a dunce hat that’s been painted with stripes to look like a birthday hat, and he’s holding a sparkler and spinning in circles. The caption reads “the little shit misses you, come home soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> i've honestly never even tried writing from steve's POV before. constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated! thank you
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr!](http://batterology.tumblr.com/)


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